


Palesh-tor ri'el ek'wak

by jimkerk



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: I made myself sad, M/M, Old Married Couple, Sad, Touch Telepathy, i'm a sucker for 80s music sorry, old married spirk, spock's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-29 22:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12094749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimkerk/pseuds/jimkerk
Summary: "Nothing comes to those who waitTime's running out the door you're running in"Based on the lyrics of Nothing Lasts Forever by Echo and the Bunnymen.





	Palesh-tor ri'el ek'wak

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Jem @femspirk for beta-ing and also giving me the encouragement to actually post something.  
> Thanks to @AnnaKnitsSpock for the Vulcan in the title, and to Zo.
> 
> This is my first ever published fic! Hope you enjoy!

“Spock…”

Spock looked down at his face, where deep furrows ran from the corners of his eyes, across his forehead, down his cheeks. That face, which he knew so well. Which, when trying to rid himself of all emotion, crept insidiously into his mind. That face, soft and smiling and sublime, which he could gaze upon for millennia without once getting bored. He only wished he could.

Jim was lying on the bed, which had been their bed up until a few months ago. Now, it was too much for Jim for them to sleep together; the slightest disturbance caused coughing fits, the gentlest touch caused deep purple bruises. It was for the best. Spock missed Jim’s warmth.

He missed the radiant energy. He missed running off at the first sign of adventure. Of course, he was still the same Jim, still his Jim, but he was no longer Captain Kirk. 

He was an old man.

There was no way to deny it. They both were. Spock, however, knew that he had many more years ahead of him. He doubted he would live as long as his father — he was too human for that. But he had prospered this far. How could he not, when he had had such good company. 

He took Jim’s hand and knelt beside the bed. These days, fewer thoughts coursed through his fingertips, fewer images embedded themselves in his brain. It was only natural, he supposed, as the brain cells stopped regenerating. Now, the primary image that filled his head was a memory of the two of them: young, strong men in their velvet prime, a subtle touch here, a stolen glance there, a pair of star-crossed lovers traversing the galaxy together. Spock found it extremely comforting to have this means of communication available to him when Jim could neither conjure the energy nor summon the words to speak. 

 

 

Spock had known this was coming. Jim had been ill for a long time. It had started several years ago. It was barely noticeable at first, but Spock could tell when Jim was a little more short of breath than usual. When he had to steel himself to climb the stairs. When he would curl up by the fire on a day he would ordinarily be out riding. And of course, there had been the gradual decline that followed.

In the end, Jim demanded the best medical attention available: he had dragged McCoy out of retirement again just to look after him.

A few weeks earlier Spock had wondered whether the time had come to give up. Jim was in pain, his breathing becoming more and more restricted, and Spock had taken McCoy to one side.

“Doctor,” he had said, “I believe it may be time…” 

McCoy, suspicious as ever, had replied, “Time for what?”

“Time to end the Captain’s life.” The words sank slowly in the silence between them.

Eventually, McCoy said, “You know I can’t do that, Spock. I made a vow never to end a life. Besides, this isn’t just some patient we’re talking about, some statistic; this is Jim. It’s his life, his emotions, his soul! I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you’re —”

“Would you accuse me of being emotionless, even now?” 

McCoy fell silent again. His white hair was dishevelled, he, too, was wrinkled and old, and in this moment, realising his mistake, small. After a moment, he smiled. “Besides, your ship may still come in, Spock. They might find a cure.” 

“Illogical, Doctor. There is no cure for old age.” 

Waiting ceaselessly for something that may never come was a fruitless endeavour. If there were to be a cure, Spock wanted it now. He wanted something concrete and definite, not the vague hope of tomorrow. 

He remembered a time when tomorrow was all that had kept him going. Now, however, things had changed. There wouldn’t always be a tomorrow. Nothing lasts forever.

Not even love. Not this soul-bond stronger than the pull of a collapsing sun, a golden thread unravelling among the stars. Not Jim, his captain, his t’hy’la.

The man for whom he would do anything, anything at all. For whom he had already died. For whom nothing could be done. 

In that moment, it took almost all of Spock’s concentration to keep from letting the tears fall down his face. But he managed to hide them behind a façade of stony skin, out of habit rather than embarrassment. It was Jim who had taught him that there was no shame in showing your emotions. Still, if it meant he could spend even another week with him, Spock realised he would maintain his composure to the ends of the universe.

Now, another image came to his mind, one that had taken place just two days earlier. It was rare that Jim remembered something so recent now that his short term memory was failing. The image depicted Spock, sat on the old chair in the corner of the room, playing his Vulcan lute. He played a song that he had composed over the course of the passing months, a sorrowful tune with a lingering, mournful melody. Spock remembered the quivering strings pouring his feelings into the stream of time.

“No, Ashayam, not now.” Today, he did not feel like playing. He had grown weary of that old melody. It drained him. No, for now he would live in the moment, in the dream-like world that existed between their minds.

 

Suddenly, he started to see more moments, stills from their life together, tinged with sentiment: the first day they had met, at a Starfleet function when Jim was still a commander; their first accomplishment on the five-year mission, the edge of the galaxy, the loss of a colleague, the elation of victory; the first time they had played chess; the first time Jim had beaten him at chess, smirking smugly and intolerably; the first time they had kissed; the first time they had sex; the end of the five-year mission, a glorious return, a shower of awards, the longing to be alone, in private, in each other’s company; seeing each other again after they never thought they would; remembering, slowly, together; reading together, sleeping together, loving together.

A smile creased Jim’s face and his hazel eyes looked searchingly into Spock’s.

After having spent so many years trying to become truly Vulcan, now he cursed his exceptional memory, as, planting a Vulcan kiss on Jim’s hand and a human one on his forehead, he saw the images that he would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

A darkening shadow, a faint flicker of pain, then nothing.


End file.
